


Beauchamp, Plain and Tall one shots

by thatsoccercoach



Series: Beauchamp, Plain and Tall [3]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms
Genre: Falling In Love, one quote one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2020-08-14 10:37:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20190898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatsoccercoach/pseuds/thatsoccercoach
Summary: Claire's story. If there's anything good in it, credit goes to the author of Sarah Plain and Tall who wrote brilliantly ❤️





	Beauchamp, Plain and Tall one shots

I’d long since stopped dreaming of true love. I say that not to elicit sympathy or sadness, but as a simple statement of fact. As a child, richly supplied with books, I read of numerous maidens rescued from peril, or even just mere drudgery, by a dashing prince who entered the scene heroically. Though I understood the unrealistic odds of that particular scenario, for a long while I continued to wonder how my own story would unfold. Gradually, I began to watch childhood friends make their own way - moving, marrying, or (for the privileged) pursuing higher education - and yet, I remained in my comfortable, albeit unadventurous, life with my uncle.

I think I will always be surprised at the way things transpired.

I’m not sure how Jamie’s advertisement made its way into our paper at all, we being a small town on the coast of Maine, far from his own prairie home, far from the other papers in which he’d intentionally advertised.

_His _story, who he was when we met, was probably the least like any I had read as a child. Instead of a handsome prince, he was a rugged stranger. True love? He had loved and lost already long before I ever entered the scene. No castle awaited me if I chose that path, but instead a dry prairie and roaming cattle loomed ahead. Yet, I longed for a story to call my own and an adventure I could write for myself. So we exchanged letters and arranged it all. Then, I went.

The books never told me how it would feel.

By day we walked the land together, Jamie showing me his accomplishments and teaching me the ways of the land. Though his voice was always gentle, there was an underlying strength to it, reminding all those who listened, of his refusal to let life beat him down. His crops, the barn, the prized horses, his treasures shared gradually with me. His _children_, his own flesh and blood somehow -somewhat suddenly- trusted in my care. The lines between us blurred.

Willie was like Jamie in miniature but with no reservations. He was eager and willing to love, to welcome, and to include me in every aspect of their lives without any questions at all. On the other hand, there was Brianna. More hesitant when it came to trusting and sharing. I couldn’t help but love them. After supper we would sit together, like we were a family, Willie snuggled up against my side and Bree’s hair in a spray across my lap. Jamie would lean forward, elbows propped on his knees, and would tell stories before bed. The children would beg for well-known tales as well as new ones. He was masterful, knitting together details of selkies and fairy hills. One tale he told was of a beloved princess who left her castle to come and live with a lowly crofter’s family when they were struggling and in need. Willie asked if it was an “auld tale,” and when his da answered that he didn’t remember where it came from, Bree’s skeptical gaze switched between her father and I in puzzlement.

After the children were in bed, Jamie and I sat side by side in front of the fire, no tiny, wiggling children to separate us. I stitched garments that I knew Jamie’s nimble fingers could have done quite well at and _had _done just that in the past. He would whittle or mend the bridle, the one with the chin strap that always seemed to break allowing Donas more freedom and us less control. Words were few but emotion was high. Strangely, the firelight seemed to amplify everything, not just sight. Words spoken at those quiet times were somehow more important that those spoken in the middle of a day’s chaos. Slowly, _my _adventure became _our _life, all with me barely realizing that it was happening.

Our walks became longer and more frequent as Jamie spoke with a sense of urgency. It was as if the more he taught me, the harder it would be for me to leave when the time came. Where he’d gotten the seed, how he made the crops to prosper, how the animals on the farm were prospering. It was shared knowledge that began to weave a stronger link between us. More than mere pride in the accomplishments of his work, Jamie shared _life_. And more than walks and talks of land, our discussions turned closer to the heart. He shared with me about his wife, whom he had loved, the mother that Willie had never known and that Bree had for only a short while. He shared about his homeland of Scotland, of his loving parents, of loss and change and newness.

It was the small things that changed, like the first time that Jamie’s hand brushed against mine when he handed me a tool he’d been using that I needed for the garden. He had glanced at me the moment we touched, with a look strangely akin to the pain of a shock. But from that time on it was as if we were drawn toward one another. After sliding down the piles of hay, as we slept together in the barn during the hail storm, we were attracted like the pull of magnets snapping together. When a boy from a neighboring farm rode in at a gallop on their fastest horse, seeking help, Jamie’s hand, strong and sure, had found mine _purposefully_, drawing comfort for the task ahead.

His chair in front of the fire moved closer to mine over the many nights. _In case we need to share the tools._ That was the excuse the first time as we both mended our respective items. After that we never seemed to need an excuse, but moved nearer with intent.

It was a long time, yet not really that long at all when you consider the abruptness of my arrival and insertion into a life already lived. It was long enough for me to know where my story would be written.

I know that the children were fretting over my departure the morning I took my return ticket to the train station. I could sense Jamie’s disquiet as well, just as easily as I could read my own emotions by that point. In case I changed my mind, I stayed silent though I already knew I would be seeking a refund. My heart knew where it belonged.

And when I returned, Jamie’s eyes shone with unshed tears as I launched myself from the wagon and into his strong, outstretched arms. He pulled me even nearer to him and half of me was surprised by the move while the other half knew I belonged there, having waited weeks for the moment. He cradled my face in his hands planting a single kiss on my forehead before speaking.

“I love ye, Claire,” he whispered.

And my mind wanted to ask_ what of her? What of the fairy tales? What of the future?_ But he continued to silence all my questions before I could give them voice.

“I love ye,” he paused. “And no, ye werna the first lass I kissed,” he said softly. “But I swear you’ll be the last.”

And he bent his head to my upturned face, pressing his lips to mine, stealing my breath, owning my heart. Writing our adventure.


End file.
